


Hale's Howlers

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Background Pack Characters - Freeform, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Coitus Interruptus, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Established Relationship, Free Pass List, Jungle, Masturbation, Minor Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Multi, New Year's Eve, Polyamory Negotiations, Versatile Derek Hale, Versatile Jackson Whittemore, Versatile Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Stiles regrets the day he told Scott he'd owe him for trading shifts MONTHS ago because here he is, stuck working on New Year's Eve, when Jungle is packed to the gills for the return of hometown heroes, the band Hale's Howlers. Until he ends up outside, finds out who's with who in the band, and better yet, who might want him to join in...





	Hale's Howlers

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt Festival at fullmoon ficlet. I thought festival, and First Night, and so, I'm a few weeks early for New Year's but here, have it anyway. I was also inspired by the prompt "[I'm paying my way through college waiting tables. Your band is playing while I'm tending bar.](http://writemesomewords.tumblr.com/post/171699224584/im-paying-my-way-through-college-waiting-tables)". Also, it was supposed to be fluffy, not smutty, and I kind of failed. Oops.

“Just trade with me for one night, I said,” Stiles mutters. “I’ll owe you. We can trade any time in the future. Any time. Why the hell did I say that? Why would I even promise that? I should’ve known Scott would ask me to cover at the absolute worst time.” He wipes down the end of the bar with more fury than cleanliness, scrubbing at one spot.

“Stiles! I need two pints of Guinness, one of the IPA, and two Jamesons, neat,” Kira calls out. She sets her tray on the counter, leaning towards him. Stiles knows she has to be on her toes to reach over and grab the water bottle she has hidden under the counter.

A guy standing behind her gets a little too close, and Stiles counts under his breath. Five. Four. Three. Two.

Bam.

Kira blinks down at the guy kneeling on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she says cheerfully. “My knee slipped. Just like your hand did when you touched my ass. It’s very nice that you’re a straight ally and here with your queer friends, but really, please don’t touch people without asking.” She waves in Stiles’s direction. “Stiles, drinks please.”

“I hate you, Scott,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

It’s New Year’s Eve, which… isn’t normally that bad. Except that for the first time, downtown Beacon Hills is hosting a First Night celebration festival. And Jungle—which is a madhouse on the best of nights—has had live bands all night, culminating with hometown heroes, Hale’s Howlers, who are just about to take the stage.

It’s been a fucking madhouse since the night began, and while normally Stiles wouldn’t mind seeing a bunch of gorgeous guys stripping down to dance to live music, this crowd just seems… out of control.

Maybe it’s the end of the year tipping into a new one. Maybe it’s the free flowing alcohol. Maybe it’s the fact that everyone in the bar between the ages of 21 and 30, including Stiles himself, went to school with someone from the headline band.

Maybe it’s all of it.

Whatever it is, Stiles is going to curse Scott until his dying day for sticking him with this shift. Even if it was his own fault for promising any favor Scott wanted two months ago.

Honestly, he thought Scott would’ve forgotten by now.

“Hey, Beacon Hills!” Cora Hale stands at the microphone. She looks just like Stiles remembers her, right down to the way she’s flipping off the audience like she flipped off the principal during graduation.

He always kind of liked Cora Hale. Respected her.

The crowd shouts back, and Stiles thinks about putting earplugs in, but he needs to hear the drink orders. Instead he focuses on pulling the drinks for Kira, then setting up another tray for Heather, and a third for Mason. They’ve got five servers on in all, and Stiles is pretty sure it’s still not enough. The club is packed.

The tips had better be good.

“We’ve got a Hale of a show for you tonight!” Cora calls out, encouraging the crowd to cheer again. “It’s been a while since we’ve been home, and we’re thrilled to be here in the Jungle—my brother’s favorite club.” She ducks without looking, and a drumstick flies over her head, out into the audience. She stays crouched, whispers into the mic, “Don’t mind him; he hasn’t been laid in a while. It’s tough to do it in a tour bus. Everyone’s a bit on edge.”

She rises slowly, gestures at the stage where the rest of the band is coming out, picking up instruments. “Just imagine it, won’t you? There are seven of us on that bus! Seven! Four of us are in bunk beds, one on the couch, one on the kitchen table—it converts to a bed—and Laura, by virtue of being the eldest by ten whole minutes, gets the back bedroom. It’s insane!”

She’s obviously chatting up the crowd while the band finishes setting up. Erica runs her fingers over the keyboard, and Boyd stands next to her, tuning his guitar. Isaac runs scales on his sax, and a moment later Derek joins in, tapping out a beat to underline the melody as Isaac shifts into something that interweaves with Boyd and Erica. Jackson checks his bass, jumps in as they jam. Laura’s nowhere to be seen.

“Okay, so, the real question is: what’s really been going on since we rolled out of Beacon Hills seven years ago, and who’s got the best tour story?” Cora asks. “I mean, we love you, but it’s been seven years! That’s a long time, and you know we’ve been saving up all the best stories to tell you right here, because this is home!”

The cheers are thundering, painful to Stiles’s ears.

The music behind her stops abruptly, except for a new beat, rolling off the tips of Derek’s drumsticks. Cora shouts, running off the stage as Jackson strikes up a bass line that rumbles through the club. By the time the others join in, Cora’s back with her own guitar, and Laura’s suddenly there, at the mic, her husky voice shivering through the air.

They’re good, Stiles will give them that. But then, he knew that back in high school, too.

They’ve always been really, really good. Prettier and more talented than anyone really deserves to be.

And here they are, returning like heroes after seven years on the road. Seven years, two platinum albums, and more than a few music awards.

And here’s Stiles, slinging drinks and still going to college part time because he can’t manage to go full time and work enough shifts to pay for it at the same time.

Life really sucks sometimes.

“Hey.”

Stiles nearly drops the bottle in his hands. He catches it, tries to ignore the double shot of vodka he just dropped into that shaker, and sets it down. He hands the shaker to Danny. “Don’t sneak up on a guy like that. Are you here so I can get a break, or are you telling me you’re leaving early to go hang out with Jackson?”

Danny takes the shaker, finishes the drink and pours it out. He garnishes it and drops it onto the waiting tray. “Take a break. Jackson wants to get laid tonight, so I’m not seeing him until after noon tomorrow. He says rock stars don’t do mornings.”

“Thank God for the break, then, because I have got to piss like—” Stiles stops, looking at the hall. “Tell me that’s not a line for the men’s room.”

“I can tell you that, but I’d be lying,” Danny says. “And you’d better get in it, dude, because the band’s going to take a break any minute, and it’ll only be worse then.”

“Right.” Stiles quickly ducks under the bar and out into the crowd. The music is thundering, and he knows the song, his foot tapping to it as he finds his way to the hall. He’s still in the middle of the floor when the song ends, and the crowd parts—one half heading to the bar, and the other to the bathrooms.

Stiles is never going to manage to get in before his break is over.

Fine. He’ll just duck outside. It’s not like no one’s ever pissed in the alley before.

He heads out a side door, rather than cutting through the back room that’s being used as a green room for the band. As soon as he’s outside, all the noise fades, and for a moment he feels like he can think again. Breathe again. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes, taking a moment just to center himself.

Except.

A door slams, and that’s the distinct sound of someone being shoved up against a wall, two guys sucking face.

Stiles is not alone.

Damn it.

“You don’t want to be arrested for indecent exposure,” he calls out, not bothering to open his eyes. It doesn’t really matter who it is. The alley is technically _in public_ and whoever it is should probably think before getting their rocks off out here.

The sound of sloppy kisses stops, replaced by heavy breathing and a muttered, “Shit.”

Oh.

Stiles’s eyes flicker open. “Jackson? Danny said you wanted to get laid, and I get it that you want to be fast since you’ve got like what, ten minutes before you have to be on stage again, but take it from me, you don’t want to be caught out here with your dick hanging out—” He finally turns to look, words falling apart in his mouth as he realizes exactly who he’s caught. “Oh. Wow. This, um. Is not.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Jackson snaps. “Haven’t you ever seen two guys making out?”

“I work at Jungle,” Stiles retorts. “I’ve seen entire fucking orgies on the dance floor. But Jesus fucking Christ, Jackson. You’re in the alley, outside my club, and it’s you two.” He gestures as if it somehow makes a difference that he doesn’t actually say Derek Hale’s name out loud.

“The band knows,” Derek grumbles. “It’s not like we’re going to fuck right here. We’ve got a motel room tonight for that.”

“Thank God,” Jackson mutters. “Cora wasn’t lying. Touring with your best friends sounds great right up until you realize that Isaac jerks off every morning like clockwork, Boyd has issues whenever he eats beans, Erica sings show tunes in the shower, and every time Lydia visits, Cora locks us out of the fucking bus and they literally make the damned thing rock.”

“You just don’t like it because Cora likes to remind you how much Lydia prefers her tongue over yours,” Derek murmurs, grunting when Jackson elbows him.

It’s been a long time since high school.

“Nice to know you guys are still just as down to earth as you used to be,” Stiles mutters. “Now why don’t you go suck face somewhere else and leave me be?”

Jackson’s gaze narrows. “What are you doing in the alley?”

“I work here,” Stiles says. He gestures at the door. “I’m paying my way through college by tending bar and waiting tables, and right this second I’m taking a very necessary break while Danny covers the bar.” In the silence that follows, he asks, “Do I have to spell it out?”

“Do you want to go in the bus?” Derek asks quietly.

Stiles blinks. “Seriously?”

Derek walks away, heading for the bus that’s parked across the end of the alley. He fishes a key out of his pocket, and has the door open before Stiles can manage to catch up. Stiles climbs the stairs slowly, trying to take everything in as Jackson and Derek follow him inside.

“Bathroom’s that way.” Jackson points, and Stiles goes and takes advantage of the facilities.

Finally. Thank God.

When he emerges, Jackson’s on Derek’s lap, straddling him as they kiss slowly, sprawled on the couch.

And just like that, Stiles’s jeans are way too tight.

“Thanks for the break,” he says, cringing when his voice echoes off the walls. Jackson and Derek part, both looking over, and Stiles takes a step toward the door. “Thanks,” he says again. “You guys obviously want your privacy, so I’ll just—”

Derek looks at Jackson, then back to Stiles. “Wait.”

Stiles stops mid-step. “Wait?”

Derek gestures, and Stiles takes a careful step toward them. When Derek touches the sofa next to him, Stiles sits on the edge, turned slightly to face them and trying not to touch them.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” Stiles says, gesturing between them. “I mean, you’re—you don’t get a lot of privacy. Like Cora said. And you have to get back on stage soon.”

Jackson carefully lifts himself off of Derek’s lap, settles in on his other side. He has to push Derek closer to Stiles, and Stiles has to turn so they end up all wedged in together on the small couch.

It could be worse, he could be between them.

He keeps his hands in his lap, hoping they don’t notice his tight jeans problem, which has yet to wane and might be getting worse.

“I texted Laura. Said we needed fifteen more minutes,” Derek says quietly. “She probably thinks we’re having sex, but that doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, looks at the door. “Isaac’ll barge in when we’re late. It’s always Isaac.”

“Are you usually having sex when he barges in?” Stiles says slowly. He wonders where they do it. Can you do it in a bunk? In that tiny shower? Maybe right here on the—nope, not thinking that. Jeans are tighter now.

“Sometimes,” Jackson says mildly. “Why? Want to watch? Shit, Derek, cut it out.” He grunts and gives Derek a wounded look. “I know you were wondering, too.”

Derek licks his lips, looks at Stiles. “You were Cora’s classmate. You worked together on labs.”

“Sometimes, yeah. She was smart, like Lydia, and Danny.” Stiles laughs when Jackson makes a disgruntled noise at leaving him out of the list. “And she didn’t mind working with me, unlike Lydia and Danny.”

“She liked you. Complimented you when you couldn’t hear her,” Derek says. His shrug is warm against Stiles’s arm. “Talked about you so much that Laura thought she had a crush on you. Which she didn’t. She was just waiting for the right time to steal Lydia away from Jackson.”

Stiles glances past Derek to where Jackson sits, arms crossed, expression dark. “That happened at prom, didn’t it?” Stiles asks.

“Yes,” Jackson mutters. “And no, unlike the others like to joke, it did not drive me straight into Derek’s arms.”

Derek’s expression goes soft. “It took me three years to convince him I wasn’t joking about sucking him off.”

Jackson meets Stiles’s gaze. “Yeah. Usually when a guy says _I’d really love to taste your dick tonight_ they’re just kidding.”

“Like you’re just kidding,” Stiles agrees.

Silence.

Stiles frowns. “I’m confused by the turn this conversation has taken.” Because that silence almost sounded like Jackson was… “You’re not serious, are you?”

“And here I thought you were the smart one?” Jackson deadpans.

Stiles glances at the door. “Did we go into the Twilight Zone when we came in here? Because I’m really confused and I feel like we’re having completely different conversations because in no world ever did I imagine Jackson Whittemore saying he wanted to suck my dick.”

“Believe me, Derek does, too. Probably more than me,” Jackson mutters. “What the fuck is so hard to believe?”

“You hated me in high school!” Stiles bursts out, his cheeks flushed. “Derek grunted at me every time I came over to the Hale house, and Laura always cackled.”

“She thought you were ignoring Cora’s crush on you,” Derek says quietly.

“And Jackson, you gave me shit every chance you could,” Stiles reminds him, as if none of them remember it.

“Because I didn’t want everyone to see that I had a fucking woody every time you wiggled your fingers,” Jackson snaps. “Jesus fucking Christ, Stiles, I had to watch you fellate straws in the cafeteria. It was kind of a rude sexual awakening and I already had a girlfriend so it’s not like I was ready to scream that I was bi from the rooftops.”

“If we’re all violently declaring our sexuality, am I supposed to yell pan as loud as I can right now?” Derek says dryly. “I can add verse to the list, if you need it declared angrily.”

Stiles blinks. “Wait. No, I mean. I get that you two are together. That was kind of obvious from the sucking face in the ally. Were you guys actually looking for—”

“Unexpected bonus,” Derek says, his voice quieter now. Softer, and almost gentle.

“You ever dated someone and had a free pass list?” Jackson asks. “The list that if you ever get a chance to sleep with them, your partner gives you a pass because it’s just that big of a deal.”

Stiles can’t quite parse that. “I am not on your free pass list,” he says.

“You’re on both,” Derek tells him.

“So yes,” Jackson adds. “We’re both serious.”

Stiles stands up, walks away to put some distance between them. He needs to think, and right now, his dick is more than happy to do the thinking for him. But this—this is out of the blue and seriously weird and he’s not sure he doesn’t believe it’s some kind of strange prank. He turns back to face them. “Did Cora put you up to this?”

“Cora has no idea, and if she did, she’d probably never let us hear the end of it. Little sisters,” Derek mutters. “Laura knows, because she was there the night I got drunk and confessed to fantasizing about your fingers, which was how Jackson and I figured out we’d both lusted after you. I have something on her, though, so she wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

Jackson rises slowly, stalking across the small bus until he has Stiles backed up against the counter. He can feel the hard edge under his ass as Jackson stands there, looking up at him.

“So,” Jackson says, his gaze flicking to Stiles’s lips, then lower.

So what if it’s an elaborate prank. So what if it ends up with Stiles’s ass on public media or something because right now, this really looks like Jackson fucking Whittemore is offering to get on his knees.

Stiles nods slowly. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure.”

The zip of Stiles’s fly being lowered is matched by the sound of Derek opening his own jeans. Stiles looks across to see Derek palming his hard—and fucking huge—dick through his underwear. “Jesus fucking… you are turned on by this.”

“Yeah,” Derek mutters. “Put your hands in his hair. He likes that.”

Jackson likes his hair pulled. Okay. New information. Interesting information.

Stiles carefully winds his fingers into Jackson’s hair and gives a tug, getting a groan in return. Jackson manages to get Stiles’s dick free and swallows him down in one gulp, tight and hot.

“Fuck, I am not going to last long,” Stiles mutters.

A quick rap on the door before it bangs open.

“Put your dicks away and oh fucking God, Stilinski?” Isaac stands in the doorway, eyes averted. “I can’t unsee this. I mean fuck. You couldn’t just stick with fucking each other, you needed to screw—”

Stiles grunts as Jackson takes him deeper. He tangles his fingers hard, tugs sharply as his hips shift. “Technically, I’m fucking Jackson’s mouth,” he mutters.

He should stop, he should really stop, but he’s way too close.

“Five minutes,” Isaac snaps as he backs away without looking, and the door slams shut.

It doesn’t take anywhere near that long.

Stiles looks down as Jackson looks up, and that’s it, he’s spilling into Jackson’s mouth, dripping over his lips, a spray catching one perfect cheekbone. In the background, Derek groans, spilling over his own fist, catching everything in a tissue.

All that’s left is the sound of harsh breathing, Jackson still crouched at Stiles’s feet.

“You didn’t—”

“It’s not the first time.” Jackson stands up and adjusts himself, his dick a hard ridge down his left leg.

“Jackson likes to wait.” Derek tucks himself away, coming to his feet in fluid motion. “We’re staying at the Meridien. Room 301. You can either meet us there, or come with us after the set’s done.”

“Danny’ll close for you,” Jackson says, like it’s already a done deal.

“Do I get to return the favor?” Stiles asks.

Jackson runs his finger across Stiles’s lower lip, leaning in close as he whispers, “I have been waiting to fuck this mouth for a decade. So yeah. I want to see you on your knees, swallowing me down while Derek fucks you wide open with his dick. Unless you’d rather fuck him. Plenty of options.”

“We’re in town for a week,” Derek palms the nape of Stiles’s neck, turns him so he can kiss him deeply. “Meridien. 301. Be there.”

Stiles barely catches a breath before Jackson claims a kiss as well. There’s a hand on his ass, and he fumbles while trying to zip up without stopping the kissing. Which is good. And fuck, he’s kissing a couple of rockstars. Who are his ex-classmates.

Who want him in their bed later. Because they’ve fantasized about him and his wiggly, spindly long fingers.

He doesn’t expect it to go anywhere, but it definitely sounds like a good way to spend the night. Or the week. “I need to get Scott to take my shifts for the next week,” he mutters.

“That sure of us?” Jackson asks, while Derek huffs.

“Yeah.” Stiles grabs them both, kisses one after the other, and it’s really fucking amazing the way Derek tries to overpower him, but Jackson just melts under the impact. He could get used to that. “Meridien 301. After your set. I’ll be there.”

He has a feeling it’s going to be a hell of a week.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rarely at [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. 
> 
> If you like my fic, you might like my original serial (magic! shapeshifters! queer characters! college!) posting twice a week at [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


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